tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74610362639283968292018-03-07T15:35:28.308-08:00the perils of a young fashionistainfamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-2883506857232458092011-09-15T22:40:00.000-07:002011-09-15T22:54:22.066-07:00<span style="font-style: italic;">think. </span><br /><br />There's humility in heartbreak. An openness that couldn't have really been expected. Ironically this entire experiences has made me more willing to talk, share and communicate than I ever have before. My life has become an open book, I'll pour my heart to anyone who'll listen. I'm embracing this vulnerability and seeing it for so much more than it making me weak or fragile.<br /><br />It's made me human.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">breathe. </span><br /><br />I feel it's wrong to say that I deserve better than you, but I do. It's weird to wrap my head around the fact that some of the best moments of my life in the past few years actually had nothing to do with you. You were thousands of miles away when I was making the memories that have made me who I am. You were a presence, yes, but you weren't involved. Knowing that I don't need you to be happy is liberating. It doesn't make this any easier, but it makes it possible.<br /><br />Maybe it's not giving you, or us, credit but you were a letdown. We were a letdown. It never felt real, never felt right. I kept waiting for things to get better but I know what we had was the best it could ever be.<br /><br />And it wasn't good enough.<br /><br />You were so heartbreakingly ordinary and I built you up to be so much more than that. And I'm anything but. Honestly. Truthfully. I know I'd rather be completely happy and alone than stuck in mediocrity with you. I always knew there had to be <span style="font-style: italic;">more. </span>I had to keep convincing myself that I could be happy spending the rest of my life with you. I should have never had to convince myself of anything. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">release. </span><br /><br />So now I'm letting go. I'm walking away, not unscathed. Yes, it took four months to get here. Yes, I cried. Yes, there was drama and pain but I'd rather have a few months of this than a lifetime of stifling obscurity.<br /><br />Because I didn't want to marry you. And you didn't want to marry me. If either of us wanted it we would have never let things get to the point we did.<br /><br />We crashed. We burned. And now there's nothing left but ashes.infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-30925924545447496192011-09-15T00:47:00.000-07:002011-09-15T00:52:23.763-07:00<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">i fancied you'd return the way you said, </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">but i grow old and i forget your name. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">(i think i made you up inside my head.) </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">i should have loved a thunderbird instead; </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">at least when spring comes they roar back again. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">(i think i made you up inside my head.)</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">-Sylvia Plath </span></span><b><br /> </b>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-73578420277566041822009-09-28T13:44:00.000-07:002009-09-28T14:15:36.141-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">music starts playin' like the end of a sad movie</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">it's the kind of ending you don't really wanna see</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">cause it's tragedy and it'll only bring you down</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">now i don't know what to be without you around</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">and we know it's never simple, never easy</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">never a clean break, no one here to save me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">you're the only think i know like the back of my hand</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">and i can't breathe without you. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>it's weird how no matter what i do i end up in the exact same situations. i've said multiple times that metaphorical circles dictate my life, but i think the amount of repetition, the number of times i let the same things happen to me, the fact that no matter what i can't seem to learn my lesson proves that full circle is not the end of the road. </div><div><br /></div><div>i wish i could turn the clock back to july. my life made sense, i lived with my best friends, i was on the brink of every possible amazing opportunity, i spent each day counting down to when i could see you again, i spent each day counting down to when our lives could begin. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">life was so good</span>, maybe it was too good. </div><div><br /></div><div>two months later and everything has been completely shattered. i'm living in a glorified dorm room with a girl whose conversation makes talking to a wall seem appealing, i'm apathetic about everything coming my way and you. you've somehow become the worst thing that has happened to me in the past twenty two years. </div><div><br /></div><div>you were the one stable thing in my life for the past five years. you made things make sense, you kept me grounded, you were the foundation that i built everything else on and you were what gave everything meaning. you were the one who made me believe in you, believe in us, to this extent and now i'm finding out that you built me up just to let me down. </div><div><br /></div><div>i believe everything happens for a reason, i have to, time and time again the universe has proven this to me and on some level i know it's true, but i refuse to believe that you chose for this to happen so that it could end. i can't understand how you can walk away unscathed, i can't believe that this is what you want, and until i do there's always going to be some hope that this will work out. </div><div><br /></div><div>i keep being told to trust, to have faith...i've been told a million things that are supposed to make sense but don't. i've been told that i have this amazing life, i have absolutely nothing to complain about, i have everything going for me, but for some reason i keep falling back into this pattern of futility. i make people believe i'm too strong for my own good, but i'm anything but. i need support, i need protection. and i need something to believe in. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">get a little anxious sometimes</span>. understatement. i'm becoming so bipolar it's not even funny. one second i'm embracing this life that's been thrust onto me and the other i'm crying about how i'm not ready for it. part of growing up is making the mistakes i'm making right now but i can't handle the life lessons that come in tow. </div><div><br /></div><div>i feel like my world fell to pieces when i was forced out of love. i pretend everything's okay, i fake that i accepted my fate, the situation and the circumstances...but knowing on a day-to-day basis that things aren't the same drives me insane. how do you transition from having someone be everything to having them be nothing? do you need a mourning period? do the rules really work and do you ever feel okay just being by yourself again? or do you always know that you've lost a part of yourself you'll never really get back? how do you cope when the person you thought was your everything says it would be best if you just weren't anymore? </div><div><br /></div><div>i feel like i'm going about this the worst way possible.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> i'm not okay</span>, i'm really not, i don't even need answers now, i just need clarity. i need something to believe in, i need something to count the days down till and look forward to. </div><div><br /></div><div>a million years ago i said i was working with an intricate balance that would never really hold. it didn't, and now i'm spiraling out of control---mentally and emotionally. nothing in my life is consistent right now and i have no idea what i'm supposed to do about it. </div><div><br /></div><div>not too long ago my life was an adventure. now i just want to run away from it all. </div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-41134577979633011002009-09-06T09:28:00.000-07:002009-09-06T09:32:41.614-07:00as for now i'm gonna hear the saddest songs.My life would be so much easier if I could hate you. If I could bring myself to the point where anger meets disgust and say 'good riddance' to everything you've put me through in the past five years.<br /><br />It's not like I don't have my reasons; I should hate you for giving up on us. I should hate you for not thinking I was enough. I should hate you for giving up on me, I should hate you for making me question everything I believe in. I should hate you for using me. I should hate you for building me up just so you could let me down. I should hate you for every single empty promise. I should hate you for making me trust you. I should hate you for making me believe in you.<br /><br />But right now I should hate the fact that for the first time in years I'm alone on my birthday. And you won't even acknowledge that.infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-82665472427186823262009-09-02T19:51:00.000-07:002009-09-02T20:09:03.656-07:00i've been looking so long at these pictures of you...There's a reason why that whole 'boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy stands by girl' deal only really pans out in the movies. When things appear to be too good to be true they can't really be that way, if you don't know what it's like to be truly unhappy how can you ever realize what happiness was in the first place? Eventually it's the same story...complications, expectations, life ends up getting in the way.<br /><br />I walked by our restaurant today. I remember the exact day we found it. It was summer, it was late, it was rainy, we were starving. We found the rundown pseudo diner and we somehow ended up there almost every other night. Seeing it. Being there almost killed me in ways nobody could really imagine. This city reeks of you, ever street, every corner, every store has a memory. I keep hoping that somehow I'll wake up from this horrible existence, this living nightmare that's become my reality. That someone will shake me to the point of realization---but maybe coming to terms with the truth is the last thing I need.<br /><br />I wish I could write you a letter I know you'd never really read. Say everything I need to without really saying anything all. This nightmare was supposed to be our dream.<br /><br />But I guess when it comes down to it living this dream is nothing without you.infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-71347683421068797762009-06-28T01:51:00.000-07:002009-06-28T01:52:01.950-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">You may tire of me as our December sun is setting because I'm not who I used to be<br />No longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise<br />The youthful boy below who turned your way and saw <br />Something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end <br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize <br />When he catches his reflection on accident </span><br />On the back of a motor bike <br />With your arms outstretched trying to take flight <br />Leaving everything behind <br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But even at our swiftest speed we couldn't break from the concrete </span><br />In the city where we still reside. <br />And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea like navy men <br />Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides <br />Like brothers on a hotel bed </span></span>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-80922061872461563092009-06-26T03:02:00.001-07:002009-06-26T03:02:22.058-07:00<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Thoughts read unspoken, forever in doubt</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Pieces of memories fall to the ground</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I know what I didn't have so, I won't let this go</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">'Cause it's true, I am nothing without you</span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-82529954118467944232009-05-26T01:18:00.000-07:002009-05-26T02:02:28.423-07:00stupid girl.<em>so you've buried all your lovers clothes</em><br /><em>and burned the letters lover wrote</em><br /><em>but it doesn't make it any better</em><br /><em>does it make it any better?</em><br /><em>and the plaster dented from your fist</em><br /><em>in the hall where you had your first kiss</em><br /><em>reminds you that the memories will fade.</em><br /><br />Maybe we grew up and grew out of eachother, maybe it wasn't meant to be, maybe all the other factors were too much or maybe the odds were too great. I'm not really sure where we fall, how it ended up like this and why I'm alone crying myself past the point of being conscious. I've never felt <em>this</em> let down before, this disappointed or this disillusioned. False hope and empty promises could never get us too far, and I let myself get built up only be to let down. Maybe I should have never abandoned my cynical ways, maybe I shouldn't have believed everything you said, maybe I should have never trusted you, maybe I should have known better all along. I can say maybe, I can say what if, I can want things to be different but I can't change this reality.<br /><br />What I do know is that I gave this my all. More than my all, and probably more than you'll ever really understand. I know you did this to me, and now I'm stuck trying to pick up pieces of the past four years and seeing where they fit in my life now. I know I'm broken, and the sad thing is you're the only one who could really fix anything.<br /><br />But I don't think you can actually fix anything at all.infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-70433713666398546212009-05-12T03:42:00.000-07:002009-05-12T03:45:01.637-07:0020/20.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. </span>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-23758565482789675952009-02-25T14:39:00.000-08:002009-02-25T14:45:25.232-08:00single ladies.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7DlIBIyOYFU/SaXJ7uSSu5I/AAAAAAAAAGs/3RBngSceEBg/s1600-h/L10048158.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306869763800218514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 176px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7DlIBIyOYFU/SaXJ7uSSu5I/AAAAAAAAAGs/3RBngSceEBg/s200/L10048158.jpg" border="0" /></a> So. The high powered, independent woman doesn't have the time (or energy, or patience, or...you get it) to find a boyfriend but she still wants someone to be the big spoon.<br /><p>Enter : incredibly awkward pseudo boyfriend arm pillow*. Yes, that is a pillow shaped like an arm and half of a torso complete with half of a man's shirt because they couldn't quite replicate the texture of skin. I'm hoping. </p><br /><p>I don't think I've ever been this disturbed in my entire life. </p><br /><p><span style="font-size:78%;">*available at overstock.com. just in case.</span> </p><br /><p></p>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-7593970889232001692009-02-16T22:38:00.000-08:002009-02-16T22:48:52.625-08:00hindsight.There's a tiny scar on my right hand. It's about an inch long and sometimes you can only see it when the light hits a certain way. It blends right into my skin, just a mild imperfection on my hand. It keeps fading, but I know it's never really going anywhere.<div><br /></div><div>I remember <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">exactly</span> how I got the scar. It was my 20th birthday and I ran upstairs and pulled my bangle off my wrist and proceeded to scratch the back of my hand with my nail. I remember laughing and thinking it was no big deal, just a scratch. </div><div><br /></div><div>Every time I look at my hand I see manicured nails, the odd papercut, and that damn scar. I see everything that's happened in the past two years; the good, more bad, and even more of the completely unexpected. I can never quite get a handle on where my life is supposed to be. It looks like I've never been able to.</div><div><br /></div><div>I keep finding myself falling back into old patterns. Staying up till 5 and going to work at 10. Apathy, disinterest, being increasingly annoyed by everything around me, blaming everyone but myself for my shortcomings. </div><div><br /></div><div>The problem is I pick my scars, both literally and figuratively. I can run over everything in my mind millions of times and never change a thing, and I really need to accept that and let it be.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">...but if you can't let it be might as well make it bleed. </span></div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-37654012206008039972009-02-06T12:31:00.000-08:002009-02-06T12:42:43.423-08:00static.Half the time I still feel like I'm playing dress-up. The clothes, the tights, the hair, the shoes. All meticulously planned and orchestrated, written down in notebooks and checked off after each wear.<br /><br />The 9-5 is surreal, to say in the least. There's something about walking to work each morning, 7 degree temperature and all, and doing something you love for hours. It never feels like work when I'm there, but the second I get home it feels like 10 hours of hard labor. I'm too restless to stay in, but too exhausted to go out and I can never justify coming home at 3AM with skipping class the next day because now it's really not an option.<br /><br />Maybe surrendering to academia post grad isn't the best idea (although seeing as I have yet to hear back from a single school I don't think it will be an issue.) We'll see how this one turns out.infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-15762470003388643732009-01-10T02:31:00.000-08:002009-01-10T02:32:22.426-08:00sunset<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">nobody here can live forever, quiet in the grasp of dusk and summer.</span>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-51135662192419127892009-01-07T21:43:00.000-08:002009-01-07T21:44:50.341-08:00the name of the.<a href="http://www.thearmyexperience.com/">Ender's Game</a>, come to life.<div><br /></div><div>...who knew?</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-3507543096028337512008-12-19T01:45:00.000-08:002008-12-19T02:38:34.624-08:00scene.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Shut up, I'm wrong, I know...but we can't talk about it</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">All the wars we won, but we're still walking home</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Don't give me your reasons for all my bad intentions</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">New York...LA...hey man, you know it's all the same</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Last call, everyone go home</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">And take all the LA rain in</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Because it won't fall too much more this year</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The summer's gone, but I'm still right here.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>...and of course, it had to be Hotel Roosevelt. I think everything happening in that hotel that night was so typical LA the lobby was a microcosm of the entire city. </div><div><br /></div><div>It started with a text message. Scratch that, it started the week before at a high end company party. We met a 'producer' who was also a swing dance instructor and professional surfer...and coincidentally was 120% full of himself. He kept name dropping and swearing he was a big deal. I kept thinking I'd believe it when I saw it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then came the text message, 'Roosevelt on Thursday. Danny Masterson's Party. You guys want in?' I was beyond skeptical, but I figured the worst case scenario would be a night in Hollywood, a photoshoot on the walk of fame and a fast food run on the way home. </div><div><br /></div><div>We get to Hollywood Blvd, to the hotel that's been there since the 1920s. To get into the hotel lobby we had to smooth talk glorified bell boys...to get into Teddy's Lounge we had to be on the list, to be on the list we had to know 'Max', to say we knew 'Max' we had to get past a bouncer who's been rated by Rolling Stone as one of the top ten toughest doormen in LA...even though she was a woman smaller than I am. </div><div><br /></div><div>Inside everyone 'knew' everyone...even though they didn't really. Our friend 'Max' was in the 'VIP Section' with a bottle service bill that costs more than my rent, apparently was barely 19 and had no problem using his real ID. He was also there with a man who was definitely old enough to be his dad...which is something I'll never quite understand. In her glory days the bartender dated Adam Levine and appeared half naked in Maroon 5 music videos...and is still living on 14:59 of her 15 minutes by letting everyone she serves know of that fact. We kept meeting people in the 'music business who just need a better studio' or 'trying to make it in the industry, looking for their big break' which to me means pseudo socialites with no real job which means they're allowed to party on Thursday nights.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thursday is Jazz Night at the Roosevelt. The 'producer' kept promising us it was going to be a good time, great bands and amazing entertainment...but the entire time I felt like I was stuck in a Humphrey Bogart movie---only with less classy girls and boys who won't walk you home unless there's something in it for them. </div><div><br /></div><div>The 'producer' who got us in apparently didn't come with any friends, wasn't planning on meeting anyone there, was actually planning on hanging out with us all night and was <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">clearly</span> into my roommate. I avoided third wheel syndrome by ducking into the lobby, a room so dimly lit I think it actually made my eyes worse, furnished with sleigh beds and filled with middle aged people simultaneously taking shots and doing drugs. No really. Joe Sixpack was doing lines off a drinks menu 10 feet in front of me. In a hotel lobby.</div><div><br /></div><div>If this isn't real LA life than I have no idea what is. It's a subculture of a completely different nature, separate from California and even more distanced from the rest of the country. The bouncers, the socialites, name dropping people you've never even met, dedicating a good portion of each night out to get to know the bouncers to guarantee your ticket back in, the sketchy promoters, the 'industry people' only ever happen in this city. It glitters alright, but I'm definitely iffy on the golden part.</div><div><br /></div><div>In any case, the night ended up with us wandering around Hollywood, a photoshoot on the walk of fame and a fast food run on the way home. I guess there are worse ways to end a night.</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-27329886778977043732008-12-16T01:22:00.000-08:002008-12-16T01:32:04.225-08:00just say no.I've never been more convinced that the entire <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Twilight</span> series is a subliminal Mormon mission. Think about it. She gained an audience (scratch that, a following) and created a phenomena; making children, adults, vampires and other mythological creatures across the world believe in the good old fashioned Mormon values of abstinence and absurd ideals about marriage.<div><br /></div><div>...she's definitely kicking the pants off those door-to-door bike riders.</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-15404242091968932942008-12-07T23:53:00.001-08:002008-12-08T02:39:42.660-08:00juxtaposed.Truth: I've lived my life as a contradiction. I've loved being the unexpected, but it's getting time to face reality and stop running away from my reflections.<div><br /></div><div>I said the exact words (well, texted) that I'm in the midst of an existential crisis. I hate that phrase, I hate that idea---I hate myself for thinking it let alone type, say or believe it...but it suddenly hit. In the past three years I've been motivated by or for nothing. I've buried myself in work, projects, excursions...anything to keep me from realizing that I'm running around in circles. Somehow I lost myself in the process and I have no idea how I got here or how to get back.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe I need a change of scene. A break from monotony, from the routine. Something to make me feel like I have purpose...not even answers, just clarity. I need things to make sense again. And I'm not worried about being okay, because I know I will, I'm just afraid of who I'll be at that point and whether or not the overwhelming numbness will ever start to wear off.</div><div><br /></div><div>...another unaddressed letter to the universe. Let's hope this one merits a response. </div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-90834790609385678382008-12-03T04:17:00.000-08:002008-12-03T04:19:59.399-08:00issued.Time: 4:18 AM.<div><br /></div><div>Time I woke up this morning: 9:30 AM. meaning I should be asleep right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Addiction: The Office, season two. I want a Jim and Pam love.</div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>basically the words 'insomnia' have been running through my head in Rihanna's voice. Maybe she'll dictate my inner dialogue from now on.</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-59364014311651835652008-12-01T14:32:00.000-08:002008-12-01T14:35:12.395-08:00homegrownApparently when I was about three years old and out in public with my father I would blatantly laugh at people I didn't approve of. He said he distinctly remembers an incident at 7-11 involving twenty-somethings with mohawks and excessive piercings.<div><br /></div><div>It's good to know the judgement started at a young age. </div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-41624302962041851422008-11-24T01:53:00.000-08:002008-11-24T01:57:29.725-08:00i got tired of waiting'Among other things, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score,</span> you'll be excited and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">stimulated </span>to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">someone will learn something from you.</span> It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.' <div><br /></div><div>-JD</div><div><br /></div><div>where the fuck is my copy of this book?</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-16855636888551403792008-11-23T01:35:00.000-08:002008-11-23T01:36:22.095-08:00climatic?I'm pretty sure the highlight of my night was flirting with a gay boy in an attempt to make him my gay best friend who I can take shopping with me. The exact words that were used went along the lines of 'anyone who can pull off cowboy boots needs to rock them.'<div><br /></div><div>I'll keep you posted on this one.</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-18919329732959742412008-11-22T14:35:00.000-08:002008-11-22T15:17:08.089-08:00gildedHaving no plans, roommates (or life, apparently) on a Friday night led to a late night happy hour with the mean girls crew. <div><br /></div><div>Realization: you're only <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">truly</span> screwed up when you're sleeping with a married man (and find that empowering) or when you're planning on leaving your dream job at a Big Four firm to move to London and be a bartender. Or call girl. </div><div><br /></div><div>Apparently your 20s is when you're supposed to do things like this. Make mistakes, come back with stories that command/scare the hell out of an audience and wonder where your potential went. </div><div><br /></div><div>...meaning me having my life figured out and knowing what I want is all wrong. damn.</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-47760741176994429872008-11-17T00:38:00.000-08:002008-11-17T00:40:48.432-08:00hellfire.no really. i always imagined the apocalypse would include talking aliens and the second coming of someone important, but instead it decided to burn down the delinquent branch of my high school.<div><br /></div><div>...okay, maybe it's too soon to joke, but really. when you're told you might have to evacuate, and an epic forest fire could cut through the canyon and head towards your house at light speed you really have to think about what you'd take with you. my sister grabbed the harry potter books and ran. i took my favorite shoes.</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-84283163555461308732008-10-07T13:32:00.000-07:002008-10-07T13:34:26.863-07:00makeup junkie.So apparently I buy my makeup in regards to how relevant it is to my life.<div><br /></div><div>Example:</div><div><br /></div><div>My favorite lip sticks are rebel and media. Put them together and you have my future career.</div><div><br /></div><div>My most amazing eye shadows are drama (shocker) and label whore. typical. Does it surprise anyone that I rarely use the one called trinity?</div><div><br /></div><div>And the blush I swear by is called sincere. I guess there's a glitch to every theory.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7461036263928396829.post-61030568722153913322008-09-22T21:06:00.000-07:002008-09-22T21:07:43.737-07:00all that glitters.First day back in LA and:<div><br /></div><div>1. i got a parking ticket. bastards.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. i saw someone driving around apartment side in a rolls. i need to be their friend. stat.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. i met lorelai gilmore. my life is now complete.</div>infamusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04507777531681742171noreply@blogger.com0